


A Collection of Mandomera Ficlets

by TheHeartOfAMandalorian



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nervous Din, Romance, Soft Din Djarin, Whump, cuteness, injured!din
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHeartOfAMandalorian/pseuds/TheHeartOfAMandalorian
Summary: What if theblastershotnever rings out?
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera, Din x Omera, Mandomera - Relationship, Omeradin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 37





	1. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if the _blastershot_ never rings out?

He gazes into her lovely eyes as he gently holds her forearms. Her eyes are brimming with sorrow, but in hesitant understanding of what he'd just said: _I don't belong here - but he [the child] does._

Her beautiful eyes shine with tears, reflective of the world around like his beskar. But her eyes not only reflect - they are deep and full of life like the ponds around them. Her eyes flourish with offered unconditional love, of golden days in the greenery, of laughter, of softness, of holding each other close - of having a family. Eyes full of compassion, hope, and promise - her eyes hold everything he's ever wanted, but could never have. 

_He wants to stay._

He looks over at the kid playing with his many giggling friends - the little one smiles, great big ears bouncing with hurried little steps and bright eyes sparkling in Sorgan's sun. 

_He is truly happy here._

He watches with a hidden smile as little claws reach for squirming blue krill on the grass, the same little claws that have irrevocably wrapped around his soul.

_He can't leave him._

He turns back to her, her kind eyes immediately tug at his heartstrings, imploring him not to leave.

_He can't leave her._

"But I'd like to belong," the words burst and overflow from his full heart, her beautiful eyes are set aglow in recognition. "I want to stay."

"I want you to stay too," her cheeks flush, and she trembles under his hands, glancing shyly to the ground.

The beating in his chest grows faster as he timidly pulls her closer. She leans in, her hands tenderly splay on his cuirass. His armor reflects against her tawny skin and her skin reflects in his armor. 

"For him," he gently nods in the kid's direction. "And for you," he slowly bows his head to softly rest his helm against her forehead. "I will stay."


	2. The Chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din makes a gift for Omera.

"What do you think?" 

Winta tilts her head and taps a finger against her lips, squinting her eyes in consideration. The kid mimics her, cocking his head.

Din panics a little when she doesn't respond with an affirmation right away. _Will Omera hate it?_

"I like it - Momma will love it...but I think it needs a little something inside," she settles her hands on her hips.

"Like what?" he sighs. Crafting a new, practically airtight clothing chest was something he was proud of - Omera had been upset after moths had gotten into her old dresser and chewed up her favorite dress. She looked beautiful in everything, so he didn't really understand the fuss, but he hated seeing her upset in any way. But perhaps Winta was right that he should put a little something special inside.

"Hmmmmm…," she taps her foot and her eyes search around for inspiration. "Oh! I know!" she perks up and the kid chirps with excitement at her revelation.

"What?" he asks, leaning toward her slightly in anticipation.

"How about chocolate! Momma loves it," she smiles and nods.

Chocolate was rare in parts of the galaxy, but it must be available on Sorgan if Winta knows about it.

"Want to watch the kid for a couple hours for me?"

Her eyes light up and she jumps at the chance.

_He'd be making a special trip into town._

\--------------

"One hundred and fifty credits?!" he nearly chokes on his saliva. _This was robbery._

"Look buddy, this is good stuff - hand-crafted in small batches from Naboo," the food proprietor boasts, chewing loudly on gum. 

Omera was worth every credit, but if he didn't have to pay that much, he wouldn't.

"One hundred credits," he tries to haggle, giving his stance an extra bit of rigor to look as imposing as possible. It was a trick that worked on most of his timid bounties.

"Look, I'd be taking a loss at anything under the marked price. One hundred and fifty - take it or leave it," the scam artist shrugs, unphased by his posture.

Din sighs. _Getting soft_ , he grumbles in his head.

"Fine," he concedes, handing over the veritable ransom. 

"Nice doing business with you - come again," the store owner smirks, biting the credit as if to test its authenticity.

Din sighs to himself again. But then his heart lightens - it's all worth it to make his _mesh'la_ love smile.

He clears the edge of town before he fires up his jetpack to return back to the village.

\------------------

"Night kid," Din settles the little one into his crib. 

_Winta sure wore you out today, huh?_ he smiles to himself, wondering what havoc was wreaked during his trip. Probably better he didn't know.

Din removes his helmet along with the other beskar pieces and sets them carefully on a table near his bed. 

He lays down and turns off the lantern. In the darkness, he smiles to himself, looking forward to gifting the clothing chest filled with chocolate to her tomorrow. He imagines the bright smile and dimples and a possible hug that it will elicit and it makes his head swim in the sheer ecstasy of just the thought.

He eventually drifts to sleep, dreaming of his sweet Omera.

\------------------

"Kid?" Din sits up in bed, awoken by a shuffling noise. The golden rays of early morning seep through the barn's sparsely woven walls as his eyes adjust.

_The crib is empty._

"Kid?!" he jumps up in a panic, heart thundering as he throws on his helmet. He frantically looks under the bed, behind the spotchka barrels and then behind his stacked gun cases.

"Kid?!" he feels a dozen more grey hairs spontaneously sprout upon his scalp. "Kid?!" 

Then he hears scuffling again and pivots to the source.

He activates his HUD and spots a heat signature coming from the chest.

He rushes over and flips open the lid.

"Batoo," the little one chirps.

"Kid!" Din's jaw drops at the sight: About half of the confections are gone, foil wrappers scattered like confetti, and nearly all have at least a bite or two missing.

He plucks the chocolate-covered womp rat from the scene of his misdeed. 

"That wasn't for you," he holds the greedy gremlin at arms length, further evidence of his crime rimmed around his little mouth.

His dark eyes shift to the ground and ears fall down pathetically. 

"Don't try to make me feel like the bad guy here," he shakes his head.

His ears droop so low, they're almost flat against his head. 

_Dank farrik._

It does the trick and Din's heartstrings are tugged so hard he's not even mad. How could he be? 

_Manda, the kid knows how to get to me._

"Hey, it's ok, kid," Din holds him close and eyes the sugary war-zone inside the chest. He'll salvage what he can of the chocolates.

The kid coos an apology. A burps follows and Din feels a suspicious warmth run over his shoulder. He looks down and finds a chocolate-puke puddle on his flightsuit.

"Oh boy." He lifts the little one from the mess. He looks a little more remorseful than before.

"No more sweets for awhile, huh kid? Let's get us cleaned up."

\--------------

"Knock knock," Omera's voice jolts his heart and he's looking at the door. 

Nothing was ready and her gift was a mess, but he didn't want to turn her away.

"Come in," he replies, against his better judgement.

"Oh my, what happened here?" she half-laughs.

"He did," Din replies deadpan as the kid giggles and splashes bathwater at his helmet.

Omera laughs, a joyous melody. He supposes this was amusing from an outsider's perspective. To be honest, he found it a little funny too, if not a bit frustrating.

"Need help?" she asks, joining his side. "You know, there's a reason for the saying 'it takes a village'," she nods to the splashy child.

Din chuckles at that, looking at her bright smile.

"Could you grab a towel?" he takes her up on the offer.

Omera quickly returns and holds up a towel. He lifts the green troublemaker from the water and hands him off to her. She dries the little one off, eliciting giggles and coos. 

_She was so good with him._

He watches as she dresses him and sets him back in his crib. His heart softens more than he thought was possible.

She turns and smiles as he finishes drying off his arms and helmet after the lively bath.

 _Her gift_ , he reminds himself. He figures she already saw the disaster anyway and that he should just give it to her as-is.

"Well, this is for you. Should be moth-proof. Unfortunately, it is not womp rat-proof, otherwise there'd still be chocolate left," he gestures to the open wooden chest nearby.

She walks over to his side and looks down at the handmade gift, putting a hand to her breast.

_She's horrified..._

She bends down and runs her hands over the lip of the chest.

"Din - this is beautiful. I don't know what to say -," she smiles and then her hand covers her lips. 

_Wait...what?_

She stands back to full height and, suddenly, her arms are wrapped around him. His knees go weak. 

"I love it, even if most of the chocolate has already been sampled," she chuckles. 

_She loves it?_

Then it happens: She leans up and presses a kiss to the side of his helmet.

He nearly passes out from the gesture, but wants more.

"Omera," he looks down upon her kind features - a face he knows he'll never grow tired of seeing.

"Yes?" she meets his eyes beneath the visor. It takes his breath away.

"C-can I kiss you?" he barely manages.

She nods. 

_She agreed._

With a hiss of the air filter, he lifts his helmet just enough to expose his lips. He's essentially blind with it at this angle, but Omera graciously and mercifully meets him the rest of the way. 

Her soft lips press against his, sending shockwaves through his nerves and his heart into a frenzy. After what is definitely the best ten seconds of his life to this date, she breaks away.

"You smell like chocolate," she sniffs.

_Huh?_

_Oh._

The helmet slips down and he glances down to his soiled shoulder.

She must finally realize what it is and starts giggling.

"Time for me to clean _you_ up?" she quirks a brow.

He smiles, blushing under his helmet. 

"Think so," he replies. And with a sudden mischievous urge, he pulls her close again. Her laughter fills the barn up to the rafters and his soul to the absolute brim.

"Hey, what's going on in here?" 

They turn and find a scrutinizing Winta in the doorway.

 _Caught._

He suddenly feels like the kid in the candy earlier.

"Din gave me this wonderful gift," Omera nods her head toward the wooden chest, not letting go of Din. His heart swells.

Winta bounds over with a large grin, then her jaw nearly drops as the inside of the dresser comes into view.

"Did you already try all the chocolate, Momma?" she looks up with wide eyes at her mother.

Omera busts out in laughter. Feeling her chest convulse against him in tandem with Winta's expression, he soon follows suit, laughing hard. Winta and the kid can't help but start giggling too.

He finally catches his breath after what had been the biggest laugh he's had in ages. He looks down upon the beautiful woman in his arms and then to the two amazing kids nearby. He's never felt so cherished and loved and important. 

And he wouldn't trade it for the galaxy.


	3. Jat'vaar'tur [Good Morning]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. This is my first attempt at steamy-ish Mandomera so be gentle 🙈

Her soft hair shifts against his bare shoulder and cheek nestles against his chest. He tightens his embrace around her, holding her closer - as close as he can. 

His _kar'ta_ is full beneath her ear. He looks down upon her peaceful form and his breath is stolen by the beautiful woman in his arms. 

His _riduur_.

" _Mesh'la_ ," he tenderly whispers into her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to her soft crown.

She stirs, humming contentedly and then runs her hand up his side. It blossoms a fervent warmth from within and his drunken heart hiccups from the sensation of her kind, loving touch.

\------------------------

" _Jat'vaar'tur_ [good morning]," his husky, sleep-roughened voice rumbles beneath her ear. 

She smiles, tracing her fingertips again over his silken, scar-speckled skin, feeling him shiver beneath the touch. How he'd managed so many wounds despite the armor, she didn't know, but she'd eventually kiss each and every one - a feat that might take hours, but it'd be hours she'd very gladly spend.

"Good morning, my love," she purrs back. 

In reply, his steady heart thumps quicker beneath her ear, and she smiles, briefly wondering how fast she could make it go.

_Perhaps she should see..._

She lifts up, pressing a kiss over his heart before slowly working her way up his sternum and to his clavicles with featherlight kisses. Her ministrations soon have his chest heaving and his hands find their way to her shoulder blades, desperately holding onto her so she won't stop.

Once she's at his neck, her lips glance and tease along his ragged pulse, earning a strangled, throaty groan that vibrates against them.

"Omera," he drunkenly moans.

She shifts upward and then over to straddle him, hands splayed over his muscled chest and his intoxicating warmth between her legs.

" _M-mesh'la_ ," he stutters. She studies the most befuddled look on his endearingly scruffy face, softly lit by dawn's soft glow - it makes her swoon.

"Handsome," she hushes, shifting her hips against his. Her hands sweep over his strong chest and up to hold his face. She leans to finally capture his pouty lips, swallowing a pleasured moan before it can escape into their room. The teasing prickle of his short beard and taste of his velveteen tongue on hers ignites her passion into a wildfire, making her even more feral for him, _her husband_.

\--------------

They lay together in their bed, sweat-glistening their skin and lungs still heaving. She rests her head against his sturdy chest and a smile comes to her lips - she indeed made his heart race. 

As they both slowly come down from the lingering ecstasy of the height of their shared passion, she nuzzles in closer and he wraps his arms protectively around her once more. 

" _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar'ika_ [I love you, my sweetheart]," his breathy, baritone voice rumbles through his chest and into her ear. He softly traces lazy, sweeping patterns over her bare back.

The warmest smile dimples her cheeks and tears sting her eyes. 

"I love you, too," she presses closer, to the man who holds her soul. She's completely and hopelessly enamored by the man who is just as in-love as she. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. The Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din is VERY nervous (he's about to propose).

The booming laughter of Karga and endearingly loud cackles from Peli, the animated voices of Bo-Katan, Paz, Ahsoka, Cara, and the Armorer sharing battle stories, along with cheerful coos from the kid and chuckles from Winta, croaks from the very large Frog family, and chatter from the other guests fill the air and his heart. Tonight, they celebrate together in honor of Gideon's defeat at long last.

He's felt alone for so very long, fought for so very long - but that's no longer the case. The incredible, kind people he's befriended across this harsh galaxy are the reason he's still breathing. And they surround him.

But perhaps the most important person sits next to him - the woman which he's fallen faster than hyperspace for. He gazes over at his Omera, her beautiful smile shining brighter than the candles that adorn the veritable feast before them. This is the woman he intends to ask to be his _riduur_.

_Tonight_.

His heart paces like a pod racer and hands shake as they did on his first day in the Fighting Corps. A simple beskar ring, forged by the Armorer from a redundant area on his cuirass, sits in his belt pocket. He can feel its weight and everything it represents - a key to a future filled with enduring love, laughter, and family, if she wants him too, if she will accept him.

Cara's boot lands against his shin and she gestures her head toward the beautiful krill farmer.

He looks over to Omera, her soft brown eyes meet his and she smiles kindly - his heart nearly stops. 

He undeniably, irrevocably loves her and her daughter and he needs them in his life forever more.

He takes a deep breath.

_It's now or never._

He stands from his chair, feeling a cold sweat coming on and his heart trying its best to hammer through the beskar. He kneels on one knee beside his _cyar'ika_ , his _kar'ta_.

"Din?" Omera turns, delightfully confused.

"Omera - I am beyond thankful for you and Winta coming into my life. I don't want to spend another day separated. _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_. I love you," he places a hand over his beskar-protected heart, a heart she completely holds.

Omera's hand covers her mouth at the realization of what's happening and tears brim and glisten in her loving eyes. 

His nervous hands shake as he fumbles with the belt pouch.

"We're waiting, Tinman!" Peli has to interject her humor as she wipes a stray tear from her eye. 

Omera laughs at the commentary and surrealness of it all.

He finally grasps the band of beskar and presents it to her in his worn, leather-gloved hand, a hand much more used to holding weapons than wedding rings. A weapon could never make him shake more.

" _Ner kar'ta,_ _ner mesh'la_ Omera, will you join my side forever more and marry me?" he voice breaks and body trembles as he offers everything he has to give to the beautiful woman before him.

" _Elek_ ," she nods, replying in Mando'a and his heart stammers.

_She accepted. She accepted!! And in Mando'a!_ If it were even possible, he falls even deeper in love.

With a little help from her much steadier hands, he places the simple, elegant ring on her finger. It glows against her radiant, olive skin. 

"Let's have a toast to the newly engaged couple!" Karga announces.

Omera encourages him up to his feet and they stand in front of each other. He takes her hands in his and lifts them to his helmet. Although he feels a little awkward, it feels right. He guides her to lift the helmet just enough to expose his lips and he leans in. She eagerly meets him more than halfway.

Their friends whistle and holler at the public display of affection. But the world around soon falls away as his breath is absolutely stolen and heart swells to the very brim of his beskar. They finally break the kiss and she slides his helmet back down. His lips cannot wait to taste her everyday, for the rest of their lives.

His heart is so full of love.

"Grogu says, 'Let's eat!'," Ahsoka claps her hands together.

The kid coos in agreement around a mouthful of Force-snatched food and the table erupts in laughter. 

He is indeed a very thankful man.


	5. A Nice Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: Sanctuary - The barn scene with Din's inner thoughts.

_This nice man is going to protect us from the bad ones._ Her words replay in his mind's ear as his hands automatically oil the amban rifle.

_How many times had he ever been called "nice"?_ He could probably count on one hand, given his line of work. 

And to think he'd just nearly drawn his blaster upon her daughter..."nice" was one of the last words he'd use to describe himself.

But the kind woman's words strike him in an unexpected way - somewhere deep and rarely touched, somewhere seldom explored.

He wants to do good. 

He wants to be "nice". 

Her smile and reassuring gaze inspire it.

Something visceral trusts her, respects her, feels a connection to her. He can't quite explain it. The feeling is unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. No, it's anything but - it's warm and nourishing.

\---------------

"Knock, knock," her kind voice carries through the barn and starts his heart into a quicker pace.

“Come in,” he replies, continuing to polish his amban rifle, channeling his nerves into something useful. He hears a second pair of quick footsteps and guesses it’s her daughter, Winta.

“Can I feed him?” the girl’s voice asks.

He turns around to see her, “Sure.”

Winta smiles and walks over to the crib and kneels down, offering a tiny mushroom to the kid.

“Are you hungry?” she giggles as the kid eagerly takes the offering and munches. 

He feels a warmth envelop his tepid heart at the scene. It nourishes a softness within him, in such contrast to the cold metal in his hand and upon his body. 

“Can I play with him?” she asks.

_She wants to play?_ The beskar around his heart melts away. He sets down the rifle prong and turns to the crib.

“Sure,” he replies with a sigh, unable to deny the cute, polite daughter of his host. He picks up the child and sets him gently on the ground. 

“Come on!” Winta encourages the kid, and runs out of the barn, the little womp rat following behind. 

Din leans forward to follow suit, “ I don't think-” 

"They'll be fine," she reassures.

"I don't-," worry nips his heart.

"They'll be fine," she says firmly, but kindly.

He steps back, a little surprised at how openly she speaks to him. Most people would be too intimidated - but not her. She's obviously experienced, having raised her own child. It tempers his anxiety over the little one he'd just risked everything to rescue.

"I brought you some food. I noticed you didn't eat out there. I'll leave it here for when I go," she says kindly, her soft eyes penetrating his visor.

"That's very thoughtful of you," he gazes at her, but then turns away, heart now hammering for no apparent reason. He continues cleaning the rifle part to distract himself.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" she asks.

"Go ahead." He finds himself more than willing to answer any question she may have.

"How long has it been since you've taken that off?" 

"Yesterday," he sets down the prong.

"I mean in front of someone else," she asks, his heart struck by the forwardness of her question. But he's not upset, or offended - just surprised.

He turns around to face her, nervously fidgeting with the oiled red cloth in his hand. His gaze then follows out the window and he gestures to where the village children are playing with the kid. 

"I wasn't much older than they are," he recalls the day he swore the Creed, the day he first donned armor. His eyes focus back upon her, to her reaction.

"You haven't shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?" 

He can see the shock plain on her face. 

"No. I was...happy that they took me in. My parents were killed, and the Mandalorians took care of me," his voice breaks, heart clenching painfully.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. Her sentiment is not that of pity, but rather out of empathy for the loss he's endured. He can see it in her eyes.

"This is the way," he recites automatically, reflexively.

"Let us know if there's anything you need," she kindly gazes upon him.

"Thank you," he replies, feeling somehow lighter to have shared a very personal part of himself he rarely burdens others with.

She subtly nods, a sympathetic look upon her face and turns to leave. He watches her, something incredibly lonely in the pit of his heart aching as she exits. Soon, he feels hunger pangs along with the pangs of some other kind he can't really describe.

He grabs the plate - a very generous meal, more than he'd seen in ages - and sets it upon the windowsill.

_She and her village are truly kind_. 

The comfort of her earlier company lingers around him like an embrace and puts his weary soul at ease. Without much thought, he lifts the helmet free of his head and sets it on the windowsill. 

His bare eyes look out upon her, her daughter, and the child - no visor to distort or adulterate their raw colors in any way. This is the first time in decades he's looked upon another with bare eyes.

But he's not nervous. _He's conflicted._ For the first time since swearing the Creed, he feels tempted to allow another to see his face.

_And if they could see his face, what would they see?_

_Would they see a nice man?_

_Or would they see a man who's eyes are clouded with the innumerable the souls he's taken?_

Their light laughter breaks his heavy thoughts.

He clearly sees the joy upon on their features - he clearly sees a future that could be, a future where perhaps he could be a nice man.


	6. The Medic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Mandomera Week 2021 (Tumblr) Prompt:** Patching each other's wounds
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Sheena_Is_A_Punk_Rocker for prereading and being such a positive person and encouragement!! Thank you ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prologue:**  
>  After returning his beloved Grogu to The Jedi and later chucking the Darksaber (and its drama) into outer space, Din has since settled back on Sorgan to heal and find himself after questioning his Creed. For months, he has found comfort and sanctuary in the beautiful widow's village. But he can't sit idle for long, especially when a potential threat looms. The widow is ready to lend her own skills too.
> 
>  **POV:** Omera in the first half and Din in the second half.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Injuries, blood. Fluff.

It's been another long day in the ponds and Omera's tired down to her very bones. She craves her Mandalorian's warmth more than ever now, but Din had left yesterday to escort a large spotchka shipment into town on account of reports of bandits robbing and terrorizing some of the other local merchants. He hadn't hesitated to volunteer, insisting he owed the village for welcoming him back with open arms. 

Din's nature was to return whatever perceived favor he received...and then some. Omera loved him for his selflessness, even if it meant they'd be separated for a couple days. She also knew he wasn't entirely built for the life of a krill farmer, at least not yet. She knew it took time.

She'd be lying if she said she was always content with the quiet life she chose after fleeing the frontlines of the Galactic Civil War after she had found she was pregnant. Her love, a Rebel fighter pilot, had told her to leave for this tranquil planet so she and their unborn child would be safe. It had been a difficult decision as her medic position was vital to her unit, but even her superiors had encouraged her to seek refuge after discovering she was with child. Rao had promised he'd meet her there. 

_ He promised. _

It's been nearly a decade, and she knew even when giving birth to Winta all those years ago that her daughter would never know her father's face, only that she had his smile - a reminder of the brave man who was otherwise forgotten in the bloodbath of the war. 

_ No final goodbyes. _

_ No body to bury.  _

_ No real closure.  _

Omera had stopped wondering what happened to him years ago, accepting his death and trying to hold onto the good memories - and making new ones with her daughter, the new love of her life.

She hadn't expected her days would become so routine and quiet. She had dreams of exploring new worlds with him and their daughter, perhaps working as a travelling healer and learning new skills along the way. But he was gone. And the quiet life here was safest to raise their Winta, the living proof of the love she had and still holds for him. 

_ She'd always love Rao. _

Yet, it seems her heart had grown room for another: 

The Mandalorian. 

And with his first arrival, he'd sparked the exciting thoughts of what life outside of Sorgan could be. Not that she could leave now. Winta had friends, Omera had friends - they were an integral part of the community. But that didn't mean she couldn't look to the sky and dream. She had dreamt of the beskar-clad warrior with a voice that melted darkness itself every night since his sudden departure after his boy's life was threatened.

Omera had resolved to make sure the efforts of his short-lived initial visit weren't in vain. So after the defeat of the Klatooinians and the Mandalorian's farewell, using a few weapons graciously gifted by him, Omera had since further trained a few friends in sharp-shooting. If anything did try to threaten her home again, they weren't going down without a fight. 

And when an unfamiliar ship arrived a couple months back, she never would have guessed it marked the Mandalorian's return. She had been ready to shoot whatever had exited the strange starcraft.

Thankfully her trigger finger wasn't so jittery as to welcome him back with a blaster shot to the chest. But she'd felt like  _ she _ had been shot in the chest seeing him again.

_ Din Djarin.  _

She had nearly imploded with delight upon him sharing his name - it was one of the first things he did upon arrival while she provided a hot meal and medical supplies for wounds he didn't want to pester her with. 

Days grew into weeks and like before, they gravitated toward each other. It was perpetual, undeniable magnetism between them that neither of them could help. She had nearly exploded upon their first gentle touches. And had nearly combusted upon their first kiss, finally seeing his unfairly handsome face. She had nearly melted when he carried a sleeping Winta back from their first picnic in the woods.

She was the happiest she'd been in a long time. Not that she wasn't happy before - it's just that she felt a facet within her catch vibrant light again, a part of her that had been in the dark for so very long. A part of her that had been lonely. His reflective armor filled it with the most glorious warm and loving light.

And that light dimmed whenever he would be away on patrols or when helping in town, just as it was now. She knew Caben and Din might not yet be anywhere near returning, but her heart lightens with hope as she looks toward the path in the trees, hoping to catch sight of his glinting armor and the repulsorlift breaching the forest at any moment.

"Momma!" 

The very familiar voice grabs Omera's attention, and she turns to find Winta bounding over from the group of kids dispersing from their games.

"Hey sunflower," she smiles at her enthusiastic daughter who soon gloms onto her side, nearly knocking the wind from her lungs.

"I'm hungry," she pouts.

"Me too," she chuckles, tucking some wild hairs behind her daughter's ear. "Let's get a snack." 

They head back to their woven home, and Omera cuts some of the fruit leather she'd dried earlier in the week. Din had enjoyed it too, even asking her if she was going to make more - in fact, this was the third batch the past couple weeks. 

She smiles, thinking of Din as they sit at the table and enjoy the sun-sweetened treat, a nice cap to the hard workday. Yet, Omera doesn't quite feel satisfied, knowing well that a deep part of her feels colder. It's never as warm when he's away.

"Do you think Din and Caben are ok?" Winta's voice cuts through the growing chorus of insects and amphibians outside.

She smiles pensively, "Yes." Omera contemplates for a split moment. "Why do you ask, sweetie?"

Winta fidgets with a loose thread on her dress which Omera makes a mental note to mend later. "The other kids say it's been a longer than usual run into town... and that there are bad men again," her daughter's eyes flash with worry.

She reaches for her daughter's fretting hand, "Don't worry, sunflower. Remember how he helped us fight the other bad men?" 

Winta nods.

"It's the bad men that should be worried," she grins.

Winta giggles and agrees. 

Din's dealt with an entire army before - she knows as much because he'd told her everything about the months after Sorgan and up until his return. The Empire, being on the run, meeting new Mandalorians not of his Creed, the loss of his ship, and the parting of ways with his boy to a Jedi. With everything Din's experienced, he could easily handle a handful of backwater crooks. At least that's what Omera tried to tell herself. But the dread thickening in her gut with each passing moment made her feel differently.

Her and Winta sit near the evening fire, burning warm and gentle. Her girl soon begins yawning and it's time for bed. After tucking her in, Omera feels restless despite the tiresome day, and sits on the porch, looking toward the woods. She fidgets with the small round knob Din had entrusted her with, as a dear memory and connection to Grogu. Winta very much misses Din's boy. Stars, so did Omera, but Din had said the Jedi would set up visits after the boy finished his basic training, which he was moving through at an accelerated rate. Din was very proud. Omera couldn't help but be as well - she loved the boy too. She had been ready to raise him as her own upon Din's first visit.

Then, a faint light in the clearing catches her attention and brightens the dimmed facet within her: 

_ The repulsorlift. _

  
  


\------------------

  
  


"Thanks Din...for everything," Caben says before making himself scarce as Omera glides over. 

"You're injured," she immediately assesses.

He thought he'd hidden his stiffness well.  _ Guess he's out of practice... _

"It's nothing," he grits.

Even in the dark, she gives him a once over and hands seek out a well-hidden injury, palpating until she hears a hiss crackle from his vocoder.

"Nothing, huh?" she grouses. "The bandits do this?" She pulls him along back toward the hut.

"They won't pose a threat any longer," he exhales.  _ The part he leaves out is that they weren't exactly run-of-the-mill bandits...they had been looking for the Darksaber. Guess no one knows it's floating somewhere in space or, more likely, currently in Bo-Katan's grip. _

" _ You _ might not pose a threat much longer if you don't let me tend those wounds. You could get an infection." 

They cross the threshold and he finds she already has her medkit ready. He couldn't fault her for caring, but he didn't want to bother her with his ineptitude of avoiding sharp edges.

"I'm fine," his helmet's impassive gaze tries to break through her tough facade, but it's not going to work. "Just a scratch," he adds, despite the futility of his situation.

She's concerned for him and she's not going to release him without her treating him properly - he knows this, but he doesn't want her to see how bad his stabwounds really are. 

"Please," she persists, worried brown doe-eyes dissolving his final thread of resolve.

He sighs his resignation, "Ok."

She immediately rummages in her medical kit. 

"Remove your armor and upper flight suit, please," the woman on a mission requests.

His heart trips flat in his chest. It's not like he didn't sleep shirtless next to her nearly every night - he could never have her close enough. But the current circumstance made it less than pleasant. He hated worrying her. It hurt him multitudes more than the wounds itself to see her worry.

She stares firmly back, and he sighs, begrudgingly beginning to remove the layers. 

The growing concern in her eyes made him scold himself for having been clumsy enough to allow the bandits a couple well-aimed strikes at his soft parts: A sliced arm and stabbed side.

Perhaps this was the best way to put her worries to rest - to allow her to patch him up. He honestly wasn't  _ that _ injured - nothing his soldering/cauterizer tool couldn't fix with a few moments of burning agony and deep breathing exercises. 

She reaches for his helmet and stops, eyes searching for permission. He nods. He was still getting used to showing his face, so he was thankful she remained respectful of his boundaries, always double-checking. She helps him undo his upper layers with mobility limited by his arm wound. The air and loss of stability from the fabric irritate his fresh, raw wounds.

She skillfully runs a small med scanner over the laceration and stab wound. 

"Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"No," he decides. It was kind of a lie - the chest wound made it very unpleasant to take a satisfying breath, but it's not like he wasn't still standing.

"Sit," she instructs, patting the table top and leaving no room for discussion.

He obliges, his aching feet thankful for the reprieve after walking the past couple days - there had been no room on the lift with the full barrels on the way there and then the empty barrels on the way back. 

Next, his personal medic has some auscultatory contraption in her ears and the other end suddenly on his chest. The cold listening piece makes his breath involuntarily hitch.

"Take a deep breath," she directs.

She listens to various points on his chest, favoring the stabbed-side. 

"Your lung doesn't sound like it was punctured, and your heart still works. Although, I wonder how your head can be so stubborn," she playfully grouses.

He huffs a laugh, wincing as the movement catches his sliced side. He watches as she takes the device from her ears and slings it around her neck. He guesses the act is out of habit, a deeply ingrained reflex from when she had been a medic. It makes him smile, wondering what she had been like all those years ago. No doubt the same strong-willed, caring person she is today.

"You're going to need stitches and to avoid heavy lifting for a week at minimum," she determines, grabbing a bottle with a nozzle.

He grunts as she flushes some solution into the gash on his arm, making it sting like a son of a bantha. 

_ Dank farrik, it's deeper than he thought. _

She then irrigates the stab wound on his side, which nearly has his vision going black.

"'Mera," he growls, gripping the edge of the table. 

"Sorry, I have to deliver the antiseptic to the affected tissue." After a few more moments, she finishes the not-so-enjoyable lavage and the pain diminishes quickly. "Where else did you get hurt?"

He teasingly gestures to his lips. She rolls her eyes, but gives him a kiss anyway.

_ A healer she was, delivering just the medicine he needed. _

"Ewww!" 

He breaks their kiss to find Winta standing in her bedroom doorway, scrunching her nose in mostly fake disgust.

"You're awake," Omera chuckles, blushing and surprised.

"You guys are loud," the girl retorts.

Din can't help but chuckle, also quite embarrassed.

"Why is your shirt -?" she furrows her brow, which dissolves into shock. "Oh no, did you get hurt? Are you ok?"

"I'm ok," Din reassures as the girl approaches quickly.

"You're a bad liar," Winta quips, eyes now honed in on his bleeding wounds.

"Sunflower, would you like to help?" Omera smiles. 

"Really?" Winta practically jumps up and down.

Omera looks to Din, "I'm sorry - is that ok with you?" 

He gulps, "She's not going to do the stitches, is she?"

"I can stitch really well!" Winta asserts.

"More practice on krill first," Omera snickers. "But you can watch and then dress the wound after."

Winta concedes, her bright eyes focusing on her mother's explanations as she readies the needle and thread. Din feels a bit under scrutiny, but the kid's curiosity is infectious. He knows Omera had been teaching Winta basic first aid skills since his first visit - she'd grown up a lot during those weeks. Having her home under attack had persuaded it, necessitated it.

"You get hurt a lot, huh?" Winta blurts.

Din huffs a laugh, quirking a brow. "How can you tell?" 

"You have sooo many scars," her eyes scan his bare skin in surprise. "And momma's had to break out her medkit more than ever since you've arrived," she giggles.

Omera chuckles lightly and she continues the stitches on his arm. The numbing cream she applied makes it feel like a mere pressure and it sure beats the cauterizer, by a thousand parsecs.

As Winta watches her mother's skilled hands demonstrate the suturing technique, Din admires the mother and daughter duo he now considers his family. Hell, Omera was practically his wife, even if the vows hadn't yet been said out loud - he had proclaimed them in his heart many times over. Winta was his daughter - if not by blood, she was by bond. He would do anything, fight anyone to keep them safe. He does worry more might come in search of the Darksaber and threaten his family, but he'd quelled the threat for the time being.

"I'm going to apply the dressings now," Winta warns in a professional voice. It makes both him and Omera smile. 

He watches the sharp girl apply the bandages, remarkably gentle for the rough and tumble kid she normally is. She wraps them extra well.

"Is that too tight?" Winta asks.

Omera inspects the bandages. "No, looks very good," she smiles warmly at her daughter, then looks to him. "How does it feel for you, Din?"

He takes a breath and gently moves his arm to test both areas out. "Best dressings I've ever had. Even better than your mother's," he casts a teasing look at Omera and she playfully pats his knee in retaliation.

"Really?" Winta's eyes swell with pride.

Din nods.  _ She'll make a fine healer like her mother if she so chooses. _

"Good job, sunflower," Omera praises.

"Thank you, Winta," Din smiles, feeling about Winta as he does for Grogu: Incredibly proud.

The girl suddenly hugs him, eliciting a puff of air from his lungs but careful not to catch the wounds she just patched. A warmth spreads under his ribs, around his heart - a love for the girl he considers his daughter. He pats her back.

"I'm glad you're ok," she says, a sentiment that stings his eyes with emotion. Before he knows it, the moment has passed and she breaks away, scurrying back off to bed. "Night!" she shouts then closes her door.

They chuckle at her unceremonious departure.  _ That's Winta for you. _

"Thanks for being so good to her," Omera smiles, starting to clean up the supplies. 

"She's a good kid," he smiles, tears of gratitude absorbing back into his eyes. He catches sight of the dwindling stock in the kit as Omera closes it, along with the auscultator she removes from her neck. "I'm going to have to buy you more supplies next visit into town."

Done with her task, his medic steps between his legs, which hang over the edge of the table. "At this rate, yes," she hushes, and leans in for another kiss.

The kiss grows longer, needier, and Din finds himself dizzy for her. She gently grabs his hand and he slides off the table in a dreamlike state. She leads them back into her bedroom.

"Time for  _ you _ to rest," she nudges him to lay down.

He pulls her on top of him, blood rushing in his veins from how very alive she makes him feel. She giggles and the melody fuels his fire. 

"You're going to rip your stitches," she lifts away to inspect the dressings.

He sighs, knowing she's right. He needed sleep anyway and she looked like she did too.

They get comfortable on the bed, and snuggle close, the combined warmth from each other sinking deep to ease their weary bones. His arms embrace her, never wanting to let go. He decides he'll tell her about the Darksaber tomorrow. But for now, he'd enjoy the peace and his newfound family. He just prays it isn't short-lived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get this earlier than Tumblr because I use AO3 to format in html for Tumblr posting :D I hope you enjoyed the little blurb (:  
> [[I plan on returning to The Firefighter series soon and have a chapter out by the end of the month!]]


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